Novak No More
by CanvasWonder
Summary: ( AU / SEQUEL ) Dean will do anything to get Castiel back. Little does he know what the term 'anything' can encompass.
1. Chapter 0

Chapter : 00

Dean Winchester had dealt with enough of the supernatural in his life to know when something wasn't right.

His footsteps echoed eerily in the empty halls of a very familiar hospital and the hairs at the nape of his neck were standing in a strict salute alongside the fine hairs on his arms. He reached for the handgun he usually kept tucked away in one of his coats many convenient pockets and frowned as his finger brushed over bare fabric; he knew the weapon was there in reality, but it was odd that he hadn't carried it with him to dream-land like usual.

A flicker of movement at the end of the corridor drew Dean's attention away from his thoughts, and he frowned as he stiffened where he was standing; he felt exposed, open to attack as he glanced up and down the hall for somewhere to hide. Where were the nurses, the doctors? The elderly man from the third floor he made his daily round and greeted Dean with a toothless smile?

No hospital should be this quiet.

"Hello?" He called out, starting at the sound of his own echo as he took a cautious step forward.

"Dean," The voice came from everywhere at the same time it came from nowhere. Dean's head spun with the force of it, his vision blurring dangerously at the edges as he stumbled into the wall, the cool surface smooth against his cheek.

"Dean," The sound came from inside his own skull, his body and mind vibrating with the raw _power_ in the sound. There was something dangerous in the gentle caress of the words and the electricity pulling low in Dean's gut.

He forced himself to look down the hall, where the movement that had drawn his attention had now solidified into a figure. Pale and bleeding, an open wound on the side of his head; dark hair plastered to his skull with blood, his lips pursed in a tight line and a hospital gown hanging off his emaciated form.

Blue eyes – so blue – pleading him. Begging him.

_Dean_.

**. N . N . M . **

**Hello, darlings! You all begged me, and since tonight****_ is_**** the premiere of Season 9 - and I hate putting you all in so much pain - I figured I'd give you a gift!**

**Here is the prologue to ****_Novak No More_****, the sequel to ****_Winchester Winter_****. If you haven't read WW, it might be a good idea; you will be much more likely to understand NNM.**

**Hope you all have a wonderful evening- enjoy Season 9! I know I will!**

**-CCW**


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter : 01

Dean awoke with a start, his fingers knotted in the material of a pale blue hospital gown. He stared at his white knuckles, willing his racing heart to take it easy as he slowly relaxed his hold, smoothing out the wrinkles in the material with an apologetic mummer as he shifted in his chair and blinked the sleep from his eyes.

Castiel slept on, oblivious and still.

Dean sighed as his eyes roamed over the familiar planes of the sleeping man's face- and a man it was, now. The seventeen year old boy who had been lying in that bed the first night after the accident was gone; the gentle line of his jaw had solidified, and his body had continued growing despite his almost two year slumber. He was all sharp angles and long legs, his fingers thin and bony but graceful every time Dean examined them.

Dean would give anything to see if his eyes had changed as much as his body.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean arched his back in a stretch and groaned as the muscles twitched in irritation and his spine cracked. After nearly two years of sleeping in the uncomfortable plastic chair, Dean was damn close to taking the matter of comfortable chairs to court; his nights consisted of uncomfortable positions leaning against Castiel's hospital bed and his poor back was no more than a jumble of pinched nerves nowadays.

Standing, Dean stifled a yawn as he absentmindedly reached out and smoothed Castiel's dark locks away from his pale face. The eighteen year olds hair was oily in his fingers and he frowned, silently reminding himself to wash it when he got back from work.

He smiled faintly as he thought of the small battle that had been born over who got to help Castiel maintain decent hygiene, since he himself was incapable. Anna had volunteered for the task at the exact moment Dean had _claimed_ it; only Gabriel stepping in had stopped them from coming to blows, and after a serious debate about who was more comfortable sponging down the naked boy – sibling or lover – Dean had been given the job.

"Hairs a little long there, babe. I'll have to give you a clip," Dean told the sleeping boy, smiling as he curled one of the shoulder-length locks around his finger before letting it fall and shuffling towards the bathroom with a yawn.

He relieved himself quickly and splashed a few handfuls of water over his face, spluttering at the cool temperature, before moving back into the room and dropping down in the chair by Cas' bedside once more.

"Sammy's coming up for the weekend," Dean muttered, glancing at Castiel before pulling his cell from his pocket and scrolling through his text message inbox. "He said he'd come see you, but I don't know how that'll work out… He's got a lot of friends to catch up with,"

Castiel's chest rose and fell, and his eyelids remained closed.

Dean sighed, dropping his head into his hands and scrubbing irritably at his face. He went through this ritual every morning; lazy, one sided conversations in hopes of sparking Castiel's interest and somehow bringing him back from the edge of whatever figurative dream-ledge he was on and into reality. Granted it never worked, he always attempted it.

"I really wish you would wake up," Dean sighed, peeking at the comatose figure from between his fingers and watching as long eyelashes cast shadows across pale cheeks and thin lips parted in an eternal motion of breath.

Dean stayed that way for a measureless amount of time, pretending it was one of the nights long ago that Castiel had reluctantly agreed to sleep in his small twin sized bed with him. The way they'd had to crowd together in the small space, and the warm puffs of Castiel's breath against his collarbone as the younger boy settled in for the night. The way his face relaxed in sleep, the lines smoothing away to reveal the innocent face of a teenager with too much on his plate.

Shaking away the memory, Dean climbed to his feet and leaned over the bed to press a kiss to Castiel's forehead.

"You call me if you wake up, got it?" He told the boy strictly before grabbing his coat where he'd laid it out on the foot of the bed after stumbling in sometime after midnight last night. "I'll be back sometime tonight,"

He accepted the silence as acknowledgment and left the room with one last glance over his shoulder.

The hospital hall was the exact opposite of his dream; nurses, patients and doctors occupied the hall in a cacophony of noise and movement. Toothless Mr. Cone from the third floor was moving slowly by, stooped over his cane, and he muttered a quiet greeting which Dean returned with a warm smile, patting the elder on the shoulder as he walked by.

After nearly two years of daily visits to the hospital, the staff and several of the long-term patients had come to know and accept Dean's presence; they never questioned how the twenty-one year old would slide around in the shadows, or the cautious way his eyes flickered and his hands stayed tucked in his pockets. Outside of Castiel, Mr. Cone, and select handful of staff, Dean didn't bother anyone who didn't bother him.

Taking the stairs rather than dealing with the chaos that usually was the elevators, Dean stepped out into the crisp January air and inhaled a cleansing breath as he made his way to the Impala. Today was what Dean liked to call a Cas-Day; a beautiful Thursday in autumn, leaves falling and no temperatures above forty degrees. It was the kind of weather his boyfriend would have bundled up in a trench-coat and braved, dark scarf wrapped around his face and thin body shivering violently.

Climbing into the Impala, Dean tried his best not to think about Castiel as he fired up the engine and hit the highway, his tight muscles only beginning to go lax once the hospital was nothing but a blurry structure in his rear view mirror; out here, on the road, he could at least pretend that things were going to be alright- because right now, they definitely were not.

Dean's knuckles turned white where he was gripping the steering wheel as he thought about everything that was sitting on his plate; the bills, the work, the comatose boyfriend, the college-obsessed baby brother, and the legal fight for said brother's custody.

The Impala swerved as a sudden guitar rift sounded, and Dean's heart nearly hammered its way out of his throat before he remember that he_ did_ own a cellular device. Eyes on the road, he dug blindly in his pocket, nicking his finger on an open switchblade and cursing loudly before dragging his phone out and flipping the device open, pressing it to his ear.

"Dean," He huffed in answer, glaring at his bleeding finger as he brought it to his mouth and sucked vigorously.

"Did you cut your finger again?" Sam's voice accused from the other line, static loud in between words.

"Sam!" Dean exclaimed happily, a smile lighting his tired face; think of the devil and he shall phone. "Cut myself with my own knife? Me? No, never." Dean scoffed with a chuckle.

"I still think you should get a new one- switchblades shouldn't pop open on their own free will," Sam chuckled and Dean listened hard, catching the anxious edge to the sound.

"Probably not, but it's got character." Dean shrugged, too affectionate of his first child hood weapon to even consider parting with it. He balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear, eyes on the road as he reached across and opened the glove-box with the hand not on the wheel, fumbling for a box of band aids.

"Look, Sammy, I'm glad to hear from you- really, I am." Dean paused to peel away the wrapper of a band-aid with his teeth. "But I'm on my way to work, and you usually don't call me this early in the morning unless something's wrong."

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam sighed, though his trembling voice said the exact opposite. "Can't I just call to check in you?"

"Not at four thirty in the morning," Dean answered, sloppily wrapping the band-air around his finger and figuring it'd hold; at least it kept the blood at bay. "Really, Sam. What's going on?"

There was a long pause before Sam answered. "Dad's drunk again,"

Dean's heart broke when his brother sniffled on the other side of the line, and his vision went red; if that bastard was within his reach… "It's okay, Sammy. It'll be okay. You in the bathroom?"

"No… I'm under the bed." Sam answered and Dean had the gut wrenching image of his Sasquatch of a baby brother crammed into a small, dark space, face streaked with tears and overly large body trembling with anxiety.

"Made any dust bunny friends?" Dean tried his best to cheer his little brother through the phone, hating the distance- hating their father, and God, and this whole fucked up situation.

"No," Sam huffed out a miserable laugh.

"They probably got scared and ran away- they've never seen a wild Samsquatch before."

"Dean, I'm only an inch taller than you."

"And still growing, Sammy boy; by next summer you'll have at _least_ a foot on me,"

"You'll still kick my ass when we fight,"

"You know it, bitch."

"Jerk,"

Dean smiled at the banter, glad to hear the hitches in his baby brothers breath die away to soft inhales and exhales. Sam could fight a lycanthrope off with his bare hands – Dean had seen him do it about three years ago -, but when it came to dealing with their father Sam often froze in panic. Sometimes it just helped to talk him out of it; help him get through the anxiety so he could think clearly.

"Dean?"

"I'm still here," Dean pulled off the highway, taking the sharp left towards _Singer Auto Repair_, pulling to a stop out front of the garage and cutting the engine.

"You still want me to come up this weekend, right?"

"Of course, Sammy- been looking forward to it all week. Why?"

"I… You may have to come get me. I don't have a car."

Dean froze for a moment before licking his lips nervously, glancing around the empty garage before him as he thought; the rest of the Winchester family was bunking in Washington right now, close to Seattle, and driving there would mean two days up and two days back down.

Four days away from Cas.

"Sam, I… I don't know if I can…" Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and hissing out a breath between his teeth.

"No, no. I understand. I can pay for a bus, but I might be a few days late getting there, and-" Dean cut him off before he could say anymore.

"Sam, I'll see what I can do, okay? Maybe Gabriel will come down and stay with Cas for me," He bartered and hearing the smile in Sam's voice when he replied was almost worth it- _almost_.

"Okay, well… I guess I should let you get to work, then?" Sam said, sounding a little less panicked and a little more pleased.

"Yeah," Dean nodded despite the fact his brother couldn't see him. "If you need me, Sam, just call, alright? I'll get there as fast as I can."

"I know, Dean. Have a good day at work,"

"Talk to you later squirt," Dean muttered fondly before the call dropped and he sagged forward, too many things weighing on his mind as he let his forehead fall against the steering wheel and debated whether or not to stay in the Impala all day and deal with his moods alone, or sulk around the workplace.

He decided on the later- besides, he had to find _some_ way to pay his boss back for that poker game last month.

**. N . N . M .**

**I promise it's going to get more interesting; just have to set the stage ;)**


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter : 02

Dean made it back to the hospital sometime close to eleven that night, a permanent scowl etched onto his face. It had been a shit day; he'd nearly lost a hand at the garage and received a verbal-flogging from his boss, an older man named Bobby. After leaving the shop for the day, he received a call saying he'd lost his waiting job at the diner and he had to pick up a double shift at the bar across town in order to compensate for the lost cash. To make things even worse, he'd managed to get a hold of Gabriel on his lunch break and there was absolutely no way he could come stay with Cas without missing important testing that would give him his bachelor's degree.

He was more than ready to drop into his chair, grab a hold of Castiel's hand, and turn in for the night.

"You're in early tonight," Dean jumped as he rounded the corner to find Meg leaning over Castiel's bed, toying with a monitor. He scowled at the late-shift nurse as he stomped his way over to the empty chair beside Cas and dropped heavily into the familiar plastic seat.

The short woman turned towards Dean, wearing her usual blue scrubs, her hair a pile of blonde atop her head and her eyes all black. It wasn't that Dean didn't like Meg – she was actually pretty decent when she wasn't be a bitch – but he had a reputation to withhold as far as dealing with her kind went.

When Meg had first presented herself to Dean as a demon, he'd been ten seconds away from forcing salt and holy water down her throat and leaving her body in the stairwell for the hospital staff to discover- if it wasn't for the insistence of another hunter who had been present at the time, he would have. Ellen – both Jo's mother and a highly respected hunter in the community – had sworn up and down that Meg was a good guy; a double agent who worked to keep demons away from the hospital, and to cart any information from downstairs straight to the hunters.

"You look like Hell," Meg accused as Dean propped his feet on the edge of Cas' bed and ran his fingertips over the comatose boys wrist.

"You would know," Dean replied gruffly.

"Aw, you can do better than that, Winchester." Meg pouted, settling her hands on her hips as she watched Dean draw a pointless pattern over the veins in Castiel's wrist.

"Not in the mood, Meg."

Meg's lips puckered as she watched the hunter for a long moment before disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a handful of supplies a few moments later. Dean recognized the inflatable shampoo basin and stood warily, walking around the bed and accepting the materials as she passed them to him. A bottle of shampoo and conditioner sat on top of a towel inside the basin, a pair of scissors tucked carefully beside them.

"He's looking a little shaggy," Meg announced as Dean dumped the supplies out on the bed beside Castiel's still form and helped Meg to pull the bed away from the wall enough that Dean could fit in the small space between wall and bed.

"He could use a shave, too," Dean nodded, running a hand over the coarse hairs littering Cas' strong jaw.

"I'll go find a razor if you think you can get rid of the mop on top of his head without cramping his style," Meg bartered and Dean shot her a first degree Winchester bitch-face; he'd cut Sam's hair – and his own – enough times in his life to handle Cas'.

"I think I'll be fine," He bit out and Meg raised her hands in surrender as she disappeared to the bathroom once more. Dean muttered to himself under his breath, cursing the hospital and Meg separately as he grabbed the inflatable basin and moved it to rest on the pillow near Castiel's head.

Carefully, as if it were a game of operation and touching the sides meant certain death, Dean slid his hands underneath Cas' head; one supported the man's neck while the other rested against the back of his head. Dean tried his best not to cringe at the limp and lifeless feeling in the body under his fingertips as he lifted Castiel's head and gently settled his neck against the open portion of the basins wall.

The man's hair was dark and shocking against the white of the basin, but his pale skin seemed to blend in with the material perfectly. Dean sighed as he combed his fingers through the silky black locks, careful not to tug too harshly on the knots even though he was certain Cas couldn't feel it.

Meg returned carrying a large white bag that looked similar to the clear bags distributing liquids into Cas' body, hanging it alongside them; the only difference with this bag was the hose attached to its side, and the shower-head at the end of said hose.

"I'll leave you to it," She announced, smiling sweetly as the black in her eyes recede to regular-sized pupils and she slipped out of the room.

"She's a weird one," Dean muttered, shaking his head as he pulled the hose free of its place attached to the side of the bag and held it over the basin; water rushed down the tube and out of the shower-head with a splutter, and Dean held it there until Castiel's hair was thoroughly soaked, at which point he held the tube upright and attached it to the bag once more. Grabbing the shampoo, he squirted a fair amount into his palms and took a deep breath as he bent over the basin and began to work his fingers through Cas' hair.

Though bath-time with Castiel was a bi-weekly event, it was always something that Dean looked forward to; it was something Dean could actually help with, something that was within his control. Whereas he may not be able to wake Cas up, or control the patterns of rise and fall in Cas' health, he could control how clean his boyfriend was; he could make sure he was comfortable, and that he remained just as handsome as always in his slumber.

He hummed to his boyfriend, his fingers working soapy circles against Cas' scalp and his nails dragging gently. "_On my knees and out of luck, I look up_," His voice echoed strangely in the empty room, but he continued anyways; it was a habit he'd taken to shortly after he'd discovered Cas was in a coma, remembering the countless times Cas had caught him singing when he was awake, and his expressed desire for Dean to continue.

_Night has always pushed up day- you must know life to see decay, but I won't rot_. The song was one Dean had been listening to quite repetitively lately- one of countless songs by a band Cas had actually introduced him to; _Mumford & Sons_. Though Dean would never admit to liking the pansy-music, it was Cas' favorite and the lyrics were relatable to the situation so he more often than not found himself singing covers of their music during Cas' 'baths'.

_I took you by the hand and we stood tall_. Dean dragged the silky locks of Castiel's hair through his fingers, gently working the knots loose and ignoring the uncomfortable ache in his back from standing in his bent position. _And now I cling to what I knew; saw exactly what was true_. Satisfied with the untangled mess, Dean grabbed the empty bowl underneath the bed and set it beside his foot, letting the soapy water from the basin drain out of a small tube on its side and into the bowl.

_Death is just so full, and man so small_. He unhooked the shower-head from the hanging bag of water and carefully rinsed the shampoo out of Cas' hair, gentle in his movements. _Well I'm scared of what's behind_. Dean smoothed the conditioner through Cas' hair and let it sit for a moment. _And what's before_. Once he'd rinsed away the last of the conditioner, Dean let the basin drain and reached for the scissors. _There will come a time_. He was careful in his movements, his hands shaking despite his confidence in his task. _You'll see_. He set the scissors aside only long enough to stoop down and retrieve the hair comb out of his duffel where it was resting next to the chair he usually slept in. _With no more tears_. He dragged the comb slowly through Cas hair, cutting and clipping as he saw fit. _And love will not break your heart_. Proud of his work, Dean rinsed his boyfriend's hair twice more just to be thorough. _But dismiss your fears_.

Dean gently slid a hand under Cas' head, holding it high as he transferred the basin to the floor. _Get over your hill and see what you find there_. Grabbing the towel, Dean gently spread it atop the pillow and let Cas' head settle there once more. _With grace in your heart_. Taking the edges of the towel, Dean gently toweled at Cas' hair until it was damp and messy. _And flowers in your hair_. With a gentle smile, he bent and pressed a kiss to Cas' forehead, sliding the towel away and efficiently ending the wash-session.

"Who put sugar in your coffee?" Meg's voice startled Dean as he moved to hang the damp towel over the guard-rail of the bed and he turned to glare at the demon in the doorway. Meg smiled, waving a box of razors triumphantly in hand, and stepped into the room.

"That was private," Dean grumbled, trying his best not to be embarrassed as he went about cleaning the pile of hair out of the inflatable basin.

"Don't worry, Dean-o," Meg set the razors on the edge of the bed and gathered the bottles of hair-care solutions, tucking them in the crook of her elbow as she reached for the hanging shower-bag. "I won't tell anyone about your secret Brian Littrell complex,"

Dean snorted, rummaging through his duffel in search of shaving cream. "Ain't nothing but a heartbreak, huh, Meg?"

"You've got the voice to bring backstreet back," Meg smirked as she headed into the bathroom, the sound of cabinets opening and closing sounding before she returned with clean towels and a bucket of water. Dean broke open the razor package and chose one at random, tossing the rest in his duffel and making quick work of spreading a fresh towel under Cas' head and slathering shaving cream over his face.

"Why do you sing to him?" Meg asked and Dean cursed as his concentration broke and his hand slipped, leaving a small spot of red blooming just below Cas' left eye.

Dean froze, his grip on the razor tightening enough to strain the tendons in his hand and his breath catching in his throat. Meg froze across the bed, her eyes on Dean, knowing all too well what was coming next.

It had only happened once, almost nine months ago. Gabriel and Anna had been visiting for the weekend, and Dean was standing in the hall having a conversation with old Mr. Cone about music - the old man had the same passion for classic rock as Dean – when a surprised yelp from Cas' room had drawn his attention. He'd poked his head into the room simply to make sure everything was alright, and had been startled to see a nurse holding Cas' bleeding arm.

He wasn't sure what had happened at the time – he later heard that something sharp on the bed had scratched Cas' arm – but he could see blood. Castiel's blood. The room had begun spinning, his stomach heaving, and all around him he could hear the sound of crunching metal. He'd barely managed to make it half way down the hallway before he collapsed and spilled his breakfast from that morning on the hospital floor, tears hot in his eyes…

He later learned that it was called a panic attack- and he never told anyone the trigger, but several people guessed it.

So when he saw that tiny spot of red – a wound _he_ had inflicted – the room began to spin.

Dean was vaguely aware of Meg's voice as the razor clattered out of his hand and he stumbled back from the bed, knocking his chair over in the process. The sound startled him but he could barely hear it over the sound of his pulse, and the phantom scream of metal. All he could think was to move- to get out.  
So that's what he did.

Dean launched himself out of the door, flying down the hallway, stumbling his way down the stairs and bursting out the side door just as the nausea hit him. He hated to ruin the nice landscaping but his stomach demanded to be emptied and the only available sight was the flowerbed directly to his left.

Tears pushed their way past his defenses and Dean wasn't sure whether they were from the panic-attack or from the burn of vomit lingering in the back of his throat, but he really couldn't care less. He braced his hands on his knees and spat several times, trying his best to get the foul taste out of his mouth as his body shook violently and his pulse began to slow in his ears.

The cool night air caressed his sweat-slicked skin, helping to take some of the edge off of things as he ran a shaky hand through his hair and slowly stood to his full height. His stomach was still churning sickly, but he didn't feel the immediate need to be sick.

He hovered near the exit for awhile, until his pulse slowed to a normal rate and the trembling in his body down to an occasional shudder. He should probably go back upstairs and check on Cas- threaten Meg to secrecy- get some sleepy… He should probably do a lot of things.

Instead, he ran his hands over his face and tried to push away the images of crumpled '69 Mustang and the bloody boy lying beside it.

**xXxXx**

**Song: "After the Storm" by ****_Mumford & Sons_****.**

**So. Yeah. **

**Cas may be in a coma, but he is ****_not_**** the only one affected by the accident.**

**Chapters of Novak No More seem to be shorter than those of Winchester Winter. Not sure if I like that yet. We'll see. Thoughts?**

**I promise we'll get some Cas soon guys. He won't be asleep the whole book!**

**-CCW**


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter : 03

Dean never really intended to pick Sam up for their visit – he wasn't comfortable leaving Cas' side for four days – but after his episode at the hospital Wednesday night he had been more than eager to get the hell out of dodge and let the whole deal blow over while he was away. What better excuse did he have to cheer himself up and get out of town than picking up his kid brother for a visit?

Cheering himself up wasn't the right term for it- rather, he'd made his own situation worse. The drive to Seattle had been two days worth of Led-Zeppelin tapes and severe self-reflection in the front seat of the Impala. His mind had run itself in circles, presenting Dean with images of Cas' bloody body on the tarmac and of the scrape under his eye – reminding Dean that it was _all his fault_ – until he'd pulled over somewhere in South Dakota and upchucked anything and everything in his stomach.

As the Washington state line drew closer, things didn't get much easier. He'd started thinking about Sam- about how badly he'd failed his little brother, and how hard it'd be to hide all his problems from him when he was in town. He started worrying about the job he'd lost at the diner- about all the missing tips that would usually filter straight into Cas' hospital bill, or Sam's college fund; how quickly both those wells could run dry if he didn't tend to them.

He tried to comfort himself in the fact that Cas' bills weren't_ all_ on him. Gabriel and Anna were pitching in what they could, – Anna had dropped out of college to take on a full time job, and Gabe was one test away from getting his teaching degree and starting a job at a preparatory academy somewhere in Texas – but he really couldn't afford to leave all the expenses on them; they were struggling as was, and there was no one else willing to help. Cas' mother moved away to Europe last Dean heard, but even before that she had refused to acknowledge that anything had even happened to Cas (the only kindness she had offered was leaving the Novak house for his use when she moved away) and Mr. Novak was unreachable.

All in all, it was a shitty situation- but Dean would have to make it work, just like he did everything else.

Combing an agitated hand through his hair, Dean tried to pay attention to the numbers of the houses he was coasting past. He was currently a few miles outside of Seattle, circling through an unfamiliar neighborhood as he tried to determine whether the address he'd scrawled across the paper in his hand was a triple two, or a triple seven.

To his relief, he wouldn't have to decipher his own terrible scrawl; he spotted the familiar form of his father's monstrous truck in the driveway of a small duplex home. Dean rolled to a stop at the curb and pulled the keys out of the ignition, listening to the motor die as he stared at the home before him; it was one of the nicest places Dean had ever seen, as far as John Winchester's homes went- nothing like the usual fixer-uppers and rat-infested apartments he usually settled for.

One side of the two-home building was painted a nice shade of green, curtains twitching as a face appeared in the window and disappeared just as quickly. There were toys on the lawn and massive SUV parked in front of the place; it was obviously a small family home. Separated from their neighbors by a pathetic picket fence, the Winchester side was more… Severe. The place was painted a deep blue, the shutters drawn tight and nothing but an empty chip bag decorating the browning grass.

It looked like a haunted house Dean thought with a chuckle as he threw the door open, the familiar squeak of protest sounding as he climbed out of the car and took a moment to stretch.

Just as Dean was bringing his arms over his head, moaning as the muscles in his back tugged, the front door to the Winchester side of the duplex came flying open and a blur of gangly limbs and wild brown hair rushed towards him.

Dean barely had time to brace himself before all six feet and four inches of Sam was slamming into him like a freight train; someone _really_ needed to remind Sam that he wasn't six anymore, and that tackling Dean with hugs simply wasn't manageable with as big as he'd gotten- but it wouldn't be Dean, not for a few days at least.

The day John took Sam from Dean had been Hell on Earth; it had been worse than walking in the hospital every day knowing Cas hadn't woken up, almost worse than the nightmares Dean often had about Cas' death - _almost_. Sam was all he had- his responsibility, his purpose. Watching John drag Sam away all those months ago, listening to his brother screaming and fighting, the sound of John's voice threatening to put Dean in jail if he even thought about interfering … It was like John had driven away with a part of Dean's soul that morning, and he hadn't really managed to get it back until now.

"Hey, Sammy," He pat his younger brothers back, chuckling as Sam stepped back with a teary grin.

"It's good to see you, Dean," Sam announced and Dean blinked in surprise at the deep voice pouring past his brothers lips. Why hadn't he noticed that change over the phone?

"Good to see you too," Dean nodded, leaning against the still-warm hood of the Impala and burying his hands in his pockets; his little brother mimicked his movement to par. "How's suburban life treating you?"

"Wouldn't know," Sam shrugged, glancing up and down the quiet street with an unimpressed expression. "We're gone on hunts most of the time, and I'm usually holed up in my room catching up on school work when we're here. You're probably more domesticated than me,"

"Domesticated? Jeez, Sam, we're not dogs," Dean chuckled, glancing at his brother. "Well, least I'm not- you're looking a little shaggy."

"Jerk," Sam accused, combing a self-conscious hand through his hair; it was longer than Dean had ever seen it, most likely because John refused to take him to get it cut. Dean had always been the in-home barber.

"Takes one to know one, little brother," Dean winked, snickering as he received an elbow to the ribs.

"So what about it, huh?" Sam asked once they'd settled again. "How _is_ domesticated life?"

"Rough." Dean admitted with a shrug, staring up at the angry clouds as they moved in a slow crawl over head; why'd it always look like it was going to rain around here? "The hospital upped Cas' bills last month- said the paying parties couldn't have a discount anymore, or something. It's cause Gabe got that new job down in Tejas, and it pays pretty damn well. He doesn't start working until next semester so it's total bull shit, but I guess once he starts pulling in pay, things'll lighten up."

Sam nodded gravely, scowling as a drop of rain dampened the knee of his jeans. "How's Gabriel doing? I mean… He took the whole Cas situation pretty hard,"

"Still got the hots for the teacher, huh, Sammy?" Dean smirked, receiving a first class Sam Winchester bitch-face.

"I never liked him like that," Sam grumbled, sixteen year old cheeks flushed pink.

"Sure," Dean chuckled, receiving a sharp jab to the ribs with one of Sam's bony elbows.

"How is he?" Sam demanded once more.

Dean frowned, thinking back to the last time he'd seen Cas' older brother, about a month ago. Gabriel had just dropped in for a few days to check up on Cas, and not once had he smiled or cracked a joke; he'd simply sat on the edge of the bed and read aloud from an array of literature ranging from _Of Mice and Men_ to _Cyrano de Bergerac_, all because Cas liked classic books. It was something the nurses had told them to do- talk to him like he was there, bring up topics he liked… And even though it never woke him, Gabe and Dean never stopped trying.

Dean could understand the loss of Gabriel's humor and the damaged look in his eyes better than most. He was a big brother too, and he knew all too well what it was like to wander the halls of a hospital with the terrifying knowledge that your little brother's life was in the hands of another- to worry that someone would come around the corner and tell you your sibling was dead.

"He's alright," Dean finally decided on a white lie, shrugging as he rubbed at his temples, willing away a growing headache. "Little freaked out about passing his test, but alright."

"Good- and Anna's okay?" Sam asked, almost like an afterthought.

He _so_ had the hots for Gabe.

"Doing good," Dean nodded- Cas' sister didn't come around nearly as often as his brother, but Dean wouldn't spite her for it. "Opened up a design studio in Chicago,"

"Cool," Sam nodded, and Dean grunted his agreement. His headache was growing worse progressively worse, headed towards a full blown migraine. He wanted to blame it on two days of driving and last night's shitty motel bed, but he knew it was more likely to be the lack of food in his system.

"How bout you?" Dean glanced at his brother through pain-squinted eyes. "Got any friends around here?"

"Yeah, Sarah and Aaron are- Dean," Sam suddenly dropped off, his face twisting into a scowl as he reached out a hand and grabbed on to the sleeve of Dean's coat. Dean made no move to stop him, too focused on the sudden and sharp ringing in his ears.

Well, maybe it wasn't just his ears.

The whole block seemed to be vibrating with the sound, the Impala shivering under them and a series of car alarms fading under the high pitched whine pulsing against Dean's eardrums. Sam was saying something, - hands clapped over his ears, his expression panicked- but Dean couldn't focus enough to read his lips.

His head was _pounding_.

Dean cried out as the pressure against his temples strengthened, the whole world spinning as he slid off the hood of the Impala and found himself kneeling against the asphalt, Sam's worried face fading in and out in his vision as he cradled his throbbing head. The ringing got louder and louder until it seemed to pierce more than just Dean's eardrums- it was like the sound was touching his soul, cool and light fingertips stroking over the inside of his mind and bringing only one word to the forefront.

Possession- something was trying to posses him.

He reached out for his brother, trying to force words past his lips, but finding he couldn't even breathe anymore. All he knew was the cool brush of fingertips on his mind and the soft hum of a voice barely heard- the strange light hovering over the presence as it forced its way into Dean's head and then- pop.

It was a similar feeling to pooping your ears once you stepped off an airplane – not that Dean would ever get on a plane (unnatural, satanic creations and all) – but with the pop, the whole world seemed to explode. Glass went flying in every direction, trees swaying, the Impala rocking with the force of the shock-wave, Sam barking out a pained sound, car alarms screaming from every corner of the universe…

Dean fell on to his side, victim to several shards of flying glass, and felt his eyes sliding closed against his will.

The last thing he felt was the soothing brush of light against the darkest corners of his mind.

**xXxXxXx**

**Hazzah! Updates! **

**I'm sick right now, and stuck at home for the day, so maybe you'll get another - hopefully longer - chapter later. **

**Just to let all of you know- I read every comment posted. Every single one. And even though I don't respond to them, I love them! You all are absolutely hilarious- poor Dean has a lot of haters right now, though. Be nice guys! He's trying to make up for what he did to Cas!**

**Also, the situation with Naomi - Cas' mother - is touched on here. It will be explained in more depth later, to those of you who have been questioning it. **

**I love you all! Thank you so much for your support!**

**-CCW**


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter : 04

Dean couldn't remember how he got here.

The last thing he remembered was a rain of glass and Sam's panicked voice, before a looming darkness grabbed hold of his mind and pulled it away from the real world. Now, opening his eyes and touching a tender hand to his throbbing temple, he was surprised to find himself lying in puddle beside the highway. His clothes were soaked all the way through and he couldn't help but shiver with cold as he slowly sat up, thunder growling low and heavy overhead like an animal waiting to attack.

Dean glanced up and down the open stretch of highway, blinking as a sudden flash of lightning briefly illuminated his surroundings before he was plunged once more into darkness. He winced as he climbed slowly to his feet, his head pounding and aching as he stood and tried to ring the water out of his clothes; it was useless, but Dean's hands went about the numb motion anyways as he tried to piece together what had happened.

The last thing his memory could provide was flying glass and Sam's panicked voice, followed by the eerie feeling of a second-party figure moving around inside his head. He shuddered and his head, as if remembering the slimy fingers probing inside his skull, throbbed sharply.

Had the thing that possessed him been wearing a Dean-tuxedo around town? Dean frowned, trying his best not to think about the things the demon that was in him could have done with his body as he retrieved his phone from his back pocket and tried his best not to let the rain dampen the device as he checked the screen; the date was two weeks after he'd arrived to pick Sam up in Seattle, and it was just after midnight.

_Shit_.

"I am pleased you are aware, Dean."

Dean spun, hunter instincts kicking in as he retrieved and cocked the handgun in the waist band of his pants without a second to spare. He spun on his heel, looking for the speaker, gun aimed solidly at… Castiel?

"What kind of fucked up shit are you playing at, buddy?" Dean barked, every muscle in his body coiled as he tried to ignore the happy screams of _Castiel_ raging alongside a high pitched whine of absolute _need_ inside his head.

It was the first time in two years that he'd seen Castiel outside of his nightmares, and something about the boy was wrong. Despite his bodies insistence that this was _Cas_, and that there was no threat, his mind was telling him that this was _wrong_.

Whereas the Castiel Dean now knew was all sharp angles and long limbs, this Cas was softer; there was a curve to his jaw rather than the fine square edges Dean knew so well, and a slimness in his shoulders and hands that suggested he hadn't quite grown into them yet. His head looked a little too large for his body, his ears too small, but Dean knew his body would – in time – grow to meet the demanded proportions.

This wasn't the Cas whom Dean had left in a coma- this was the Cas Dean knew two years ago.

"My form is something of your own doing," The thing inside Cas shrugged, his hands tucked into the pockets of an all too familiar trench coat. "You may change it, if you so desire. Perhaps you would be more comfortable speaking to me if I were to look like Samuel?"

"You have ten seconds to tell me what you want before I blow your head off," Dean ground out between clenched teeth, his trigger-finger twitching nervously.

"Violence need not be necessary, Dean. Please put the gun away," Dean watched as the stranger took a cautious step forward, eyes unnaturally blue; _Cas' eyes. God, he was _wearing _Cas_…

"The gun isn't going anywhere." Dean snapped, taking a breath to steady the shaking in his hands as he leveled the gun with the strangers head. "Now, I believe I asked you a question- it'd be wise to answer,"

"You will learn to trust me in due time, Dean." The stranger sounded overly confident and Dean stiffened at this. "But, as of now, we haven't time to spare. We must be on our way, before it is too late."

"We are not going anywhere until you _answer my question_." Dean reiterated. "I just woke up on the side of the road, and I don't remember any of the last two weeks- for all I know, you or a friend of yours were walking around in my skin the whole time. So you better tell me what you want- and why you're inside that body- before I send you straight back to Hell."

The thing inside Cas' body heaved a sigh, giving Dean an exasperated look.

"I am not a demon." When the thing rolled its eyes, the motion resembled Cas so strongly that Dean was hit with pain so hard he nearly collapsed; he would give anything to have Cas back… Then the words of the stranger sunk in. Dean eyed him suspiciously for a moment.

"_Cristo_."

Cas' look alike stared at him with unnervingly blue eyes.

"_Exorcizamos te, omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestsa, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii. Omnis legio, omnis congreatio et secta diabólica_-"

No black eyes, and no smoke.

"Must I be cut with a silver knife, and forced to drink holy water? I will willingly present myself for the tests," There was a hint of sarcasm in the words and Dean slowly lowered his weapon, though he did not return it to its place in the waistband of his pants.

"If you're not a demon, then what the hell are you?"

"Something you have never crossed before, Dean Winchester." Something dangerous flashed in the eyes of the man across from Dean and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. "And something you will not want to ever cross. I am only here to see that your relationship with Jonathon Novak is repaired,"

"I can't repair anything until he wakes up," Dean growled, his eyes flickering to his boots before returning to the intense stare of the man before him. Had Cas ever stared at him like that; eyes of blue fire, judgmental and penetrating?

"He will not wake up," The stranger said with confidence.

"You don't know that," Dean snapped, finger pressing tight against the trigger as the gun threatened to rise once more.

"He is dead in all senses of the word, Dean." The stranger persisted calmly. "As you currently are."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded, his heart dropping somewhere into his shoes; he was _dead_? What would Sam do? Who would take care of him- send him to college? What about Cas' hospital bill- what if Cas was dead, like the stranger said he was?

"You have been in state of rest similar to that of Jonathon Novak for two weeks," The stranger informed Dean, glancing up at the sky as thunder cracked loud and angry. "Medical staff can find no reason to explain your situation, but your health is deteriorating rapidly without reason. Jonathon suffered a stroke while you were in Washington that has substantially decreased the level of activity and functionality within his brain, leaving him as nothing but a… Vessel, I suppose."

Dean stared dumbly as the stranger looked away from the clouds, his gaze heavy when it met Dean's.

"Essentially, you are both balancing on a precarious ledge between life and death, and it is my job to ensure you do not fall victim to later."

Dean really wished there was a chair- somewhere he could sit and put his head in his hands and really think this over. All he could do though was stare at the stranger before him wearing Cas' body, his throat tight and his body quivering with nerves.

"How… How do you know all of this? How did I wind up in a coma?" He asked, voice shaky.

"I know because it is my job to, Dean," The stranger smiled faintly, just a shy tilt of his lips that disappeared just as quickly as had appeared. "Your state of health is… Insurance, that you will make the right decision. Were it my choice, I would not have gone to such lengths, but I must listen to my superiors."

"Insurance for what decision?" Dean had another headache building atop the one already present and he tucked his gun away in favor of rubbing his temples.

"I cannot break through Jonathon's barriers… His mind is wrapped in barbed wire- what's left of it, anyways. Were I able to reach him, the decision would be his to make… As I cannot, you must be the one to make it for him."

"_What decision_?" Dean urged. Why did he always get stuck with the god damn cryptic villains?

"Life, or death." The stranger simplified.

Dean was tempted to blurt life – why would he willingly let Cas die? – but something in him hesitated.

"Which would be easier- less painful? I mean… If I say death, is he going to suffer? Or… Will life be harder for him? You said- you said his brain isn't really working anymore," Dean paused, licking his lips nervously. "That's got to be a problem,"

"His recovery will be a long and arduous task," The stranger admitted, his hands leaving the pockets of his trench coat. He studied a watch on his wrist intently. "But he will not be alone, whether you chose life or death."

"Who's going to go with him?"

"You, and I."

"Wait," Dean held up a finger, brow creased. "You're saying… Whatever I chose for him- life or death – I'm picking my own side, too?"

"Yes," The stranger nodded, lightning catching his eyes and electrifying the blue of his irises.

"Huh," Dean huffed out a humorless laugh, the wheels in his head turning. "_Insurance_. You sick bastard,"

"You will not like the pillars on which Jonathon's survival are built," The stranger sighed apologetically. "My superiors did not believe in your desire for Jonathon's well being- they believed you to be selfish, and decided compromising your own health would lead you to make the… _right_, decision."

"First of all- his name is Castiel, not Jonathon." Dean corrected, anger building low and dangerous in his gut. "Secondly, if your 'superiors' think that I would hold my own health over his, then they are damn _fools_."

"I should not be on the receiving end of your frustrations- I am simply here to ask for your choice. Life, or death." The stranger replied, his calm quite the contrary to Dean's boiling frustrations.

"You said I won't like the 'pillars on which his survival are built'," Dean sighed, tucking his anger away for later use. "What exactly does that mean, oh cryptic one?"

"Jonathon," ("_Castiel_," Dean corrected forcefully) "must serve as my vessel while he heals."

"And you want me to believe you're not a demon?" Dean laughed bitterly, shaking his head as he raised his gun once more. "There is no way you're getting inside him- he doesn't know about this- _any_ of this! I intend to keep it that way, alright?"

"I am not a demon," The stranger insisted.

"Then what are you, and your superiors, and the rest of the stupid people like you? Why do you have a sudden interest in the health of my boyfriend, huh? What makes him so special? And _why are you in my head_?"

"Dean, now is not the time. Jonathon is slipping away from us," The stranger glanced nervously over his shoulder at something Dean couldn't see.

"If you want me to make a decision, I need to know who you are; _what_ you are. I want to save him- more than anything, but… Cas… He doesn't know about hunting, or monsters… He's innocent, alright? I'm not going to let some guy crawl inside him without some kind of leverage,"

If there was something desperate and broken in Dean's voice, he wasn't going to acknowledge it.

For a moment he caught a glimpse of the stranger inside Cas' body – a slight shift in the blue of Cas' eyes that revealed something swirling and white and so beautiful it was breathtaking. Dean remembered the warm feeling just before he passed out on the street in Seattle – the way the white light and the blanketing sense of comfort that had briefly touched his mind before the darkness had come for him.

"It is hard to make a man of little faith believe he is in the presence of an angel," The stranger said, his voice warm- Dean swore he sounded almost affectionate. "My name is Castiel, the angel of Thursdays and the Sergeant Major of the fourth Garrison of Heaven. I have waited a very long time to meet you, Dean Winchester."

Dean stared, dumbfounded, as the creature before him – a celestial being, something eternal, and powerful, and _unreal_ – bowed before him.

"Say… You really are an angel…" Dean combed a shaking hand through his hair, everything collapsing around him; his father told him _angels weren't real_. Heaven wasn't supposed to be _real_. Religion was just something to feed to the populace to stave off the fear of death! "Why do you need Cas for a vessel?"

"Jonathon shares my name, and is of a proper bloodline to carry my grace without injury to his physical or spiritual being." Castiel answered, and Dean didn't bother correcting him in the use of Cas' name; having two Castiel's was going to becoming confusing quickly.

"Still doesn't explain why you need a vessel," Dean frowned, crossing his arms.

"There is work that must be done on Earth. My true form would startle the human populace, and I would not be able to properly communicate with you all. Some can hear my voice, but most cannot."

"Would I be able to?" Dean frowned.

"I have tried to speak to you," Castiel replied with a hint of a smile. "I am sorry for the property damage I caused, and for the shattered windows in your vehicle."

"That… That _earthquake_," Dean gaped. "was you talking?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded, suddenly distracted. "Dean- you must make a decision. I fear I have no more time to spare. Jonathon is fading,"

Dean hesitated, weighing the pros and cons; Castiel didn't seem to be a bad guy- or angel, or whatever he was. And the idea of Cas getting out of bed- walking, talking, and _awake_ – was spectacular. The weight of hospital bills and sleeping in uncomfortable chairs just lifted…

But Cas would know- he would be introduced to the world where things went bump in the night, and Dean hunted them. He would never be wide-eyed and innocent anymore…

But he would be alive. And Dean could make that work- he always made it work.

"Yes," Dean answered. "You can have him as a vessel- but as soon as he's better, I'm kicking your ass out."

**xXxXx**

**Note to all: I know the concept seems similar to Sam and Ezekiel in S9, but I had this idea long before S9 aired. So... Yeah. Besides, it will be a lot different.**

**I will difirentiate between human Castiel and angel Castiel in the author's not as such:**

**Human - "****_Cas_****"**

**Angel - "Castiel"**

**_Cas_**** will be totally aware of everything that goes on when Castiel is in his body.**

**Don't you like Castiel's fancy title? "**_Sargent Major of the Fourth Garrison of Heaven_**" **

**Dean may or may not be a little in love with them both by the time its all said and done.**

**Thoughts?**

**-CCW**


	6. Chapter 5

The first thing Dean was aware of was the burning sensation in his throat, the next being Sam's voice ordering him to '_Breathe, dammit, breathe!_' It felt like something was cutting at the inside of his throat, his airway clogged at the same time it was impossibly open. The sensation only lasted for a moment before there was a strange tug and he was lurching forward in the bed, coughing viciously as his eyes filled with tears and he opened them to let the flood free.

Dean was assaulted with harsh lights and a crowd of panicked faces, some familiar and some strangers. He blinked tears from his eyes, falling back into the pillows with a low grown of pain as he raised trembling hands to probe at his neck and fought another bout of coughs. Meg stood nearby, expression weary as she set aside a tube Dean prayed to high Heaven had _not_ been stuck down his throat moments ago.

"Dean?" Sam's hazel eyes were orbs of worry as he stared at his older brother, and Dean offered a weak smile, opening his mouth to answer when a figure in the corner caught his attention. He almost couldn't see past Gabriel, who was standing near the figure with the protective scowl of a mama Grizzly, but when he finally realized who was standing behind the Novak boy… The monitor in the corner revealed the change in Dean's heart rate.

Cas' eyes had never changed. At the moment they were wide and frightened, lashes casting dark shadows over swallow cheeks, but they were the same cerulean shade Dean remembered- his own personal pieces of sky to keep away rainy days. Everything about Cas seemed frightened, Dean noticed; the way his hands curled into pale claws around the hood of his brothers jacket, his whole body shaking in violent waves, and his lips pressed together in a tight line of worry.

He looked so small standing behind Gabriel – so lost- that it hurt.

"Cas?" Dean rasped, breaking the spell.

The nurses in the room seemed to all exhale together, several leaving the room while others attended to the machines at Dean's bedside. Dean paid them no attention; all he wanted was Cas.

With him- in his arms.

Sometime freaking _yesterday_.

Sam and Gabriel shared a look – just a quick flash of eyes on Gabriel's part, and a slight tug downward on Sam's lower lip, but the gestures did not go unnoticed to Dean as he spread wire-clad arms open in offering to the shy boy hidden behind Gabriel. Castiel's eyes flickered over him, cautious and slow. His fingers worked nervous circles in the fabric of Gabriel's hood, his knuckles lightening and darkening as he added and subtracted pressure to his grip.

Sam was the first one to make a move, cutting through the tension with a tired frown as he sank into the chair beside Dean's bed with a grateful sigh. "He doesn't remember much, Dean." His voice was barely loud enough for Dean to catch- obviously he was trying not to offend the blue-eyed boy whom Dean could not look away from.

"What do you mean?" Dean reluctantly spared his brother a glance.

"The stroke did some… Serious damage. He doesn't remember much before waking up here," Sam explained, crossing his arms over his chest and sliding down to stretch his long legs.

Dean didn't know whether to thank God, or curse him. On one hand, all those awful things he'd said to Cas on the night before the accident were long gone; on the other, his Cas was missing with the memories. Where was the angel he'd dreamt about- Castiel? Didn't he say he would fix everything that was wrong with Cas? Was it just a dream?

Dean wasn't sure what to make of his dreams- of Castiel the angel, or the human. He didn't even know how to feel.

"Right," Dean cleared his throat of a sudden lump, letting his arms drop to the bed at his sides. Gabriel watched him with a pitying expression and Dean pretended not to see it as he picked at a small ball of lint of the sheets by his hip. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Gabriel turned and laid a gentle hand on Cas' arm, trying to lead him out the door.

Dean stared at his hands in his lap – he couldn't stand to watch Cas go – and busied himself with counting the cuts on his knuckles. Had the glass in Seattle cut him, or had he somehow managed to lash out during his two week slumber? His muscles, stiff and unresponsive after so long without use, led him to think Seattle.

The bed dipped on his left and he didn't bother looking up – why the hell would he bother looking at Sam, who could read his emotions like an open book? – until pale fingers closed around his wrist. He allowed himself just a glimmer of hope as his eyes slowly traced over the thin fingers, the knobby bones of his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder and jaw, until he reached the eyes; blue. So, so blue. Always blue.

Dean had a brief thought that he may be in love with Cas' eyes, but the gentle press of chapped lips to his own slammed up a brick wall in his head; a wall that was littered with graffiti- just one word, painted over and over again; _Cas_.

Dean's breath whooshed out in a hot stream of surprise between his mouth and Cas', but that only seemed to encourage the gentle motion of the younger boys mouth against his, and – damn – he might have forgotten to breathe in again – but he'd rather die than let this moment go.

It was with reluctance that Cas leaned away, his face only inches from Dean's.

"I didn't forget," He promised, touching gentle fingers to Dean's jaw.

Dean was suddenly nineteen again, sitting in the Impala with a smiling Cas straddling his lap, masks covering both their faces. Cas' mask was blue and silver and crooked in an endearing way.

"_Cas, what're you doing_?"

Gentle fingers on his face; light brushes over his eyelids, his jaw, his lips.

"_Memorizing_."

He had chuckled.

"_Planning on forgetting me sometime soon_?"

Cas' expression had been so focused.

"_Never_."

* * *

**This is really just a little bit of a fluff chapter, and a filler, but... I pulled it out of my ass, because I know you guys have been waiting for an update. ( I literally just sat down and wrote it in... 30 minutes?) When better to update than ten minutes before a new episode? **

**Cas is awake, guys! **

**We will delve further into the situation with ****_Castiel_****, and discover just how much of Cas' memory is intact later on.**

**I love you all! Go check out my new fic, 'Everything'? It's Destiel, too! And serious bromance!**

**-CCW**


End file.
